The Busted Thumb Horse Ranch by Paul Bagdon Page A

see. I was gonna send a
kid out to fetch you to eyeball that pretty li’l
girl.”
    “Is she as good as she looks?” I asked.
    “Better. Got the temperament of a new bride,
reins great, backs away from fighting with the
other mares. She’s a good ’un, boys.”
    A one-horse carriage pulled up at the hitching
rail. The driver—dressed like a banker or an
undertaker—jumped down. He smacked Armando’s
horse on the ass to make room for his
horse and rig. Arm started forward, but I held
him back. “Let it go,” I said. “The guy’s a dude.
Lookit the shine on them boots. He’s never
stepped in horseshit in his life.”
    The man approached us. “You are the owner of
the horses out there?” he asked Tiny.
    “Yeah. I am. Folks call me Tiny.” The gent didn’t
offer his hand, nor did Tiny. “These two boys are
Jake…”
    The dude waved away that introduction with
a choppy hand motion. “I’ve come to talk to you,
not your stablehands. I’m interested in that buckskin.
I saw her when you brought her in last
night—and I saw one of your boys run her down
the street this morning. She covers ground.”
    “You got a name?” Tiny asked.
    “I’m Morgan Dansworth,” he said. “You’ve no
doubt heard of me. I have the biggest cattle and
running horse operation in West Texas. That
mare would make a good addition. If she’s as fast
as she looks, I’ll race her. If not, she looks like a
real good brood mare.”
    “I ain’t heard of you,” Tiny said.
    “Me neither,” Arm said.
    “Nor me,” I said.
    Dansworth flushed slightly and his eyes
squinted a bit. Like I said, he was dressed like abanker—
fine suit, polished boots, fawn-colored
gloves, a fur hat.
    He cleared his throat, needlessly, I thought. “Be
that as it may, I’ll purchase that mare.”
    Tiny looked at Armando and me. I shook my
head. “She ain’t for sale,” he said. “You’re a
little
too late.”
    “The horse hasn’t been here a full day yet! Who
bought…”
    “These two stablehands,” Tiny said.
    Dansworth forced a smile at us. “What’d you
pay for the animal? I’ll double the amount—right
now, in cash. Certainly there are other horses
here that’re good enough for your purposes—
whatever they may be.”
    “Like Tiny said,” I said, “she ain’t for sale.”
    “What we pay for her is no your business,”
Arm added.
    Dansworth’s face grew more red, and it wasn’t
from the wind. “I’ll have that horse,” he said.
“I’ll
pay you three times what you—”
    “She isn’t for sale,” I said, louder than I usually
talk.
    “ ’Less you got other business here, I’ll ask you
to be on your way,” Tiny said.
    “An’ you hit my horse again, you be swallowing
your teeth, pendejo. ”
    “Like I said, I’ll have that horse—one way or
another. I have better than a hundred men working
for me. Many are very tough. Better you sell
now and avoid trouble.”
    “Trouble? Sheeee—it! You bring it right on!” Arm
said. “We own the Busted Thumb Horse Ranch—
even a fancy prancer like you could find us.”
    Dansforth glared at Tiny for a long moment.
“You’ll regret this,” he said.
    “I don’ think so.”
    The dude untied his horse, climbed onto his
carriage, swung it around, and took off at a run.
“You see the bit in that carriage horse’s mouth?
One of them spade Mex things—sorry, Arm—
that’ll rip hell outta a horse’s mouth,” Tiny said.
    “Because I am Mexican does not mean I ruin
animals,” Arm said.
    “I know that.”
    “Bueno.”
    “What do you need for the mare?” I asked.
    “Hundred and a half.”
    Arm whistled.
    “Sold,” I said. “Will you hold her for a day or
so?” I dug into my pants and started counting out
money. “I don’t have but eighty with me,” I said.
“Arm, you got…”
    “Cut the horseshit, boys. The mare is yours.
Bring me the money in a day or so—I know you’re
good for it.”
    “Sí,” Arm said. “We are also good for some of
them cold beers